I wish someone had told me that an inevitable part of motherhood is the incessant decision making. Or not so much the need for decisions, but the dwelling on which option to choose. I don’t know if it’s my personality, a symptom of being a first time mom or a bad habit, but I have found many-a time where I had to make a tiny, probably unimportant choice regarding caring for Owen and stopped to weigh the pros and cons for what had to be longer than what the “issue” warranted.
Let me give you an example, or like a hundred: If his footsie pajamas have a hole at the bottom, will his little sausage toe get stuck? If that happens, will the circulation get cut off and will I find a purple little toe at the bottom of the crib? Should I change him?
Okay, so it’s 4:30 AM. He’s fussing. Should I just feed him and hope he falls asleep, or try to cut this feeding out for good? Does he need to eat now? Is he chewing on my shoulder because he’s hungry or because he always needs something in his mouth?
Alright, he fell asleep after the left side. Should I try to burp him or will that wake him up? Should I nurse him on the other side in the hope that a fuller belly will help him sleep longer?
So now the transfer to the crib didn’t work, even after holding the sweet, sound asleep baby in my arms for 15 minutes. Do I plunk him in the swing and call it a night? Should I rock him again? See if he’ll cry himself to sleep? Stick him in the stroller and do a loop around the block?
When Owen was younger, these constant questions were a lot more prevalent. Now that he’s a hearty four (nearly five!) month old and I’ve got some mama time under my belt, I can make these little decisions with more confidence and less thought. But here’s the thing, it still matters to me. I’m the one deciding the course of action for almost every single aspect of my son’s life. That’s crazy! That’s a huge responsibility. That’s why I paused over whether he needed a onesie on under his outfit this morning. And before adding bubble bath to the tub. And when deciding which vaccinations he should get.
While I know that most of the choices will most likely be fine either way, I want to do the hecka best for my child as much as I can. So I’m learning. For example, we use cloth diapers and I’m a huge fan. They’re cost-effective, easy to use, adorable, and they work great. He’s on the second snap of the adjustable diaper and is using the “big boy” inserts rather than the newborn ones now. The dude can pee. So now that he’s got this thick inset in the diaper, he’s got some junk in the trunk. Cloth diapers aren’t exactly slimming.; let’s just say when I go to get him out of the Bumbo, sometimes it is stuck to his butt as I lift him in the air. One day about two weeks ago, I was changing Owen and as soon as the diaper was off, his little feet popped up in the air, basically over his head. I was impressed at his flexibility, and I hadn’t seen that much Gumby-ness before. Of course he had been kicking at the toy hung over his changing table for weeks, but now he had essentially bent himself in half and was just holding his legs up. That’s some good ab work right there. Then I realized I had never seen it, because he can only do it when his cloth diaper is off. Poor kid. His bulky diaper was holding him down from working out. So now Zach instituted mandatory morning naked time on a blanket on the floor so he can stretch, get some tummy time and fling those legs as much as he wants. Now he can grab his toes and will soon be able to put them in his mouth. He rolls onto his side, but stop there. Heaven forbid he should have to be on his stomach! He has peed on me or the floor every other time, but we’re going to keep doing it. At least until he poops on the floor. Then again, we are renting.
My point is, there are a lot of decisions to be made. It’s not like marriage where yes, I had to change how I made decisions because it affected someone other than myself (ie, should I bother buying blueberries when I’m the only one who will eat them?). At least with those kinds of choices, Zach has his say in the matter (Sure! Buy the blueberries) and we both make the decisions together. Also, they don't affect him in such a fundamental way as the choices I have to make for Owen. Fortunately, Zach is great about letting me overanalyze stuff with him regarding Owen and helps when I’m being ridiculous. But, being on our own most of the day, Owen is left to my devices for the majority of the time.
Here’s the thing, can I really mess it up? My mom told me that for each of her kids, while still in the hospital, she prayed and gave that child up to God. She knew she couldn’t control everything that was going to happen to her children, and had to trust in God’s protection, provision, and will for that sweet baby. Owen is God’s anyway; I just get to take care of him and cover his fat cheeks with kisses. How can I lie in bed at night, fretting over whether the ceiling fan is creating too much of a draft in Owen’s room, when I know there is a good God whose will be done? What a comfort that is when the thought of SIDS, deadly diseases, and one-year olds throwing balls at Owen’s head in the church nursery cross my mind.
Of course the potentially most distressing thought is that Owen won’t come to know Jesus as Lord and Savior. Praise God that’s not contingent on what I say and do! You better believe I pray for it and have every intention of raising Owen in a God-fearing house in which the gospel is clearly presented. Shoot, that kid is told about Jesus pretty much every night before he goes to bed. The point is, like anyone else I witness to, I’m not in control of the outcome. I will do it out of hope and obedience to God, but Owen’s name is either written in the Book of Life or not. But I love the promise found in Acts 3:38 and 39, “Peter replied, ‘Repent and be baptized, every one of you, in the name of Jesus Christ for the forgiveness of your sins. And you will receive the gift of the Holy Spirit. The promise is for you and your children and for all who are far off – for all whom the Lord our God will call.’”
So what have all these ruminations led to? Neglect. I won’t worry about how Owen dresses, eats or sleeps because it doesn’t matter anyway. I kid! Don’t call CPS. The point is, I will love, care for, pray for, and most likely spoil that baby rotten, but I’m not going to drive myself crazy. I’m going to trust and obey that I have a loving, sovereign God who wants the best for our family. Yes, I have to remind myself of this as I spend three minutes trying to decide whether Owen needs the humidifier still or he's sufficiently over his cold. I’m still learning. I’m sure it will get easier and the decisions will be made faster and with more confidence. I've already notice a huge difference in the past couple of months.
Hey moms (and dads...), what do you think? Do you go through such a process or do you just magically know the best course of action? Is it a first time mom thing or what? Feel free to comment. I’m hoping that this change in how easily I make decisions will have the positive effect of causing me to be more thoughtful in how I treat other people, not just my son. I don’t know if that’s necessarily the case, since people don’t rely on me to wipe their butts (gross) and decide what that rash might be. However, the things I choose to do and say affect more people than Owen, just not as directly.
So tonight we're getting Chinese food. Should we go to the restaurant and attempt a dinner with Owen even though it will fall at about his bedtime? Will he be overtired if we give him a bath after dinner? He really needs a bath. Should we bathe him before dinner? Perhaps we'll just take the food to go and eat in a park in case he starts fussing. Is it too hot out for him? It is 101 for crying out loud. Maybe we'll go to dinner, see if he can make it, and then just take the food to go if he starts flipping out. Yep, that's what we'll do.
There was a Manning Children Vs Spouse volleyball match (no comment), and everyone went for a lovely hike in the state park.
Owen was finally able to meet his closest cousin, West, and they spoke of many adventures to be had once we made it to California (I presume).
Sadly, Owen was sick for the entirety of the reunion, thanks to another cousin (who was sick from his cousin...and so the cycle continues). He was not his normal, bubbly self and slept terribly each night. We actually ended up propping him up in our queen bed one night, and we slept in sleeping bags in the living room. Whatever Sir Owen needs.
